


Sunset

by 1stLadyofSnark



Series: The Wakandan Wars [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Battle of Wakanda (Avengers: Infinity War), Bisexual Male Character, Bottom Erik Killmonger, Character Death, Codependency, Consent Issues, Cousin Incest, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erik Killmonger Has Feelings, Erik Killmonger Has Issues, Erik Killmonger Lives, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Heartache, Heavy Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Medical Conditions, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mutual Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Protective T'Challa (Marvel), Sexual Inexperience, Slow Burn, Smut, Soft Erik Killmonger, Threats of Violence, Top T'Challa (Marvel), Trust Issues, Underage Rape/Non-con, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1stLadyofSnark/pseuds/1stLadyofSnark
Summary: War is coming to Wakanda; and, as a veteran, Erik seems to be the only person close to the king who can fully comprehend the repercussions what of is sure to be the most trying time Wakanda has seen in its history. As Erik heals, both physically and mentally, and his relationship with T'Challa progresses, he finds himself granted the position of being the king's most trusted adviser. But Erik's inner demons are difficult to contend with; and though T'Challa trusts Erik's advice, he does not always take it, especially when Steve Rogers is involved. T'Challa's sense of compassion outweighs his sense of self preservation at every turn, leading to the single most devastating moment of Erik's life.
Relationships: Erik Killmonger/Linda (Black Panther movies), Erik Killmonger/T'Challa, Steve Rogers/T'Challa
Series: The Wakandan Wars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565260
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, I will try to explore Erik's very probable PTSD, and how people suffering from this condition are often overwhelmed by their experiences with few outlets for understanding and compassion. Often when we consider the "If Erik had lived..." side of things, we don't take into consideration the fact that whatever ails him mentally will not simply be fixed with acceptance, love, or any other outside factors. Erik's traumatic experiences began with the incarceration of his mother and the death of his father. Trauma from that young of an age greatly affects children and often shapes the type of adults they ultimately become. Because of this, Erik's healing has to start within, and he has to admit that he's severely broken in the first place before he can begin the healing process. That said, I admit that I am not sure whether or not he will get there, whether or not he will be able to piece himself together. He'll have good days and extremely bad days. I figure, many people living with PTSD who've seen and experienced horrendous things may not know for themselves either whether they will make it through them, so it's okay that Erik's path is still unclear. By the end of the series (just two books for now, pre-snap and post-snap, but that could change), we'll find out.

**Chapter 1**

Mere seconds after T'Challa had plunged the vibranium dagger through his cousin's heart, he was able to find a vulnerability in Erik's eyes that didn't come only from facing what Erik was certain would probably be an inevitable death. No, there was something else. T'Challa could see the sadness in Erik's face as he spoke of his father. He could see Erik's persona crumble until there was nothing left to hide himself behind. T'Challa gathered Erik to help him stand. N'Jobu never got the opportunity to show his son the wonders of a Wakandan sunset, but T'Challa would make sure Erik was able to bask in its glory, even if it was only one time, only for a moment.

Erik felt no shame allowing T'Challa to hoist him up. His body was weak, and his cousin was strong, gentle, reassuring; his cousin's hands gripped him tightly, one hand around his waist, the other holding firmly onto the limb Erik draped around his neck. Erik's chest felt too tight. His head felt as though he had been underwater holding his breath for far too long. One of his legs refused to respond to his simple request to bear weight.

"It is alright. I have you."

T'Challa's voice tore Erik from the darkness that was threatening to wash over him. His head lifted a little, sights set firmly straight ahead to where T'Challa was leading them both to the elevator platform.

"You d--..." Erik stopped himself when he realized how winded he sounded. He took a breath and tried again. "You don't have to. Just... leave me... down here."

T'Challa said nothing. Instead he adjusted his hold on Erik, taking on more of his weight, helping his cousin onto the lift. Erik fell silent too. His senses were getting dull. He could barely feel T'Challa's hands on him anymore, could barely feel the tightness in his chest that had been pulling at his left shoulder and arm. He tipped his head back as the platform rose quickly, able to see the sunlight shining through the opening at the top. He only had to hold on just a little bit longer.

When the platform stopped, T'Challa made sure his grip on his younger cousin was firm before moving them both to the mouth of the cave. Though he had been the one to plunge the dagger in Erik's heart, he did not want to cause him further pain. Once outside, he let Erik sink to his knees.

T'Challa stepped back some. This was the formal introduction to his homeland that Erik had never received before, even when he showed up with Klaue's body wrapped in a tarp, and T'Challa did not want to impose. Still, even a few steps away, T'Challa felt like an intruder on the silent communion between Erik and the land. An intruder on the wonder and longing in Erik's eyes.

But Erik did not mind. Something about T'Challa's presence during this intimate moment made him feel more comfortable. Without even thinking, he invited his cousin in, "It's beautiful."

T'Challa knelt then, soft, sincere eyes staring into Erik's face. "Maybe we can still heal you." His tone was flat. Almost as though he was afraid to have hope, afraid to give Erik hope... afraid Erik would say no.

"Why? So you can lock me up? Nah. Just burry me in the ocean, with my ancestors who jumped from the ships... Cause they knew death was better than bondage."

With a long sigh, a silent tear fell from T'Challa's eyes as he watched Erik's hands begin to lift to his chest, to the dagger that jutted crudely from it. When his fingers closed around the hilt, T'Challa couldn't help the cry of frustration that tore from his own mouth, "Enough of this, N'Jadaka!"

Erik flinched. The muscles in his forearms contracted. But he did not pull the dagger from his chest.

"I cannot allow this." T'Challa was righting himself, pushing himself up from the ground, his arms wrapping around Erik's waist and pulling him to his feet. "I cannot allow this anymore. You will not die simply because you are afraid now to live! Too much has been taken from you, N'Jadaka. I will not let allow your existence to be taken as well."

Erik was too weak to protest, let alone try to pull away. The feeling of being underwater was back. Both of his legs had given up. His throat felt dry. The sun was setting faster than he'd imagined it could.

"You will not die today."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_N'Jadaka stood on the makeshift basketball court with his head tipped up to the sky in a mixture of awe and fear. He didn't even flinch when his friend Hakeem checked the ball into his chest. The blue glow lazily slinking through the clouds before disappearing into the darkness had his complete attention._

_"It's true..." He muttered to himself._

_"You see that shit?" Hakeem asked._

_N'Jadaka's legs were running before his brain registered the movement. He bounded off the court, around the fence, and towards the entrance of his apartment building._

_"Yo! Daka? Where you goin'?"_

_"I gotta check on something!" N'Jadaka was half through the main doors to the apartment building and wasn't sure if his friends heard him or not. He bounded down the hall of the first floor, then up the stairwell. His short legs made quick work of the five flights of stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Halfway down the hall, he saw that his apartment door was slightly ajar. His adrenaline increased tenfold as he pressed himself into the doorway of one of the other apartments, doing his best to be inconspicuous in case anyone entered the hallway. His palms were sweaty as he pressed them against the cool wood of the door and tried to ground himself by feeling the grain beneath his palms. If something was wrong, he couldn't just bound into the apartment without a plan. He steadied himself them crouched down to pull up his left pant leg just far enough to reach into his sock. His small fingers closed around the hilt of the vibranium blade his father had given him. Once he was sure he was steady, he slipped from the doorway and down the rest of the hall to his apartment._

_He pressed himself against the wall next to the door of his apartment, listening carefully to see if anyone was still inside. All he could hear was a wet gurgling. His eyebrows knitted together as he creaked the door open all the way._ What the hell is that noise?

_N'Jadaka crept inside slowly, the hilt of the blade held tight in his fist, concealed behind his back._

_"Baba?"_

_There was no reply. N'Jadaka continued to slink slowly into the living room. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary until he rounded the dining table littered with his father's papers._

_The blade fell from N'Jadaka's grip. He stood rooted in his spot, his eyes locked on his father where he lay on his back on the floor._

_"Baba..."_

_N'Jobu tried to speak, but only the wet gurgle N'Jadaka had heard moments ago and a steady trickle of blood escaped his lips._

_N'Jadaka knelt down next to his father. There were five distinctive punctures in his chest that bled profusely, soaking through his shirt._

_N'Jadaka was screaming through his tears, "Kwenzekentoni, Baba?!"_

_N'Jobu's hand reached out for his son's. He pulled N'Jadaka closer to him. His eyes bore into the young boy's, trying to silently convey everything he wanted to say. He reached his hand to his son's face and wiped away his tears, then smiled warmly at the boy as tears filled his own eyes._

_N'Jadaka pressed his cheek into his father's palm, soaking up the touch. "Ndiza kumbulala, Baba... I swear."_

_N'Jobu choked out a soundless laugh, more blood spilling from his mouth. He let out a ragged breath and pat his son's cheek before pulling his hand away. He took his son's small hand again and turned it palm up. Then he worked to wiggle his own ring off of his finger. He put it N'Jadaka's palm and closed the boy's small fingers around it, looking at him pointedly._

_"No, Baba..."_

_N'Jobu continued to squeeze his son's hand closed around the ring, making his point clear._

It's your's now, my son.

_N'Jobu exhaled hard. Then his hand went slack around his son's, his eyes lost their focus._

_N'Jadaka's father was dead._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When her brother's panicked voice transmitted to Shuri asking her to meet him at the medical station in her lab, she was almost certain that it was her brother that had been injured. He was barely listening to her as she told him that her lab had been devasted in the battle and to go instead to the royal wing of the city's hospital.

T'Challa beating her there wasn't a surprise. He stood just in front of the glass automatic doors that separated the civilian areas of the massive hospital from the wing that was designated for use by the King's Guard, the Dora Milaje, the royal council, and the royal family. He was still in his suit with his mask retracted. Three members of the Dora stood with him. Their faces were crestfallen, but their spears were ready.

"Brother!" Shuri exclaimed in relief as her eyes scanned T'Challa's body. "You are not hurt."

T'Challa pulled her into a hug, "Aye, I am okay." A little while ago as he watched Erik stand over her radiating nothing but hatred, he had feared that those would be her final moments, that he would not reach them in time to keep Erik from..."And you? You are alright?"

It was then that Shuri heard the quiver in his voice. She pulled back to look into his face. "What is it?"

T'Challa exhaled hard and closed his eyes, surprising Shuri with his tears.

"Brother, please."

"I did something I am not proud of, and I need you to make it right."

It was only then that T'Challa escorted his sister through the automatic doors. They passed down the sterile hallway in silence before coming to a stop in front of one of the few surgical suites in the wing. The heavy door was shut, and the small rectangular window didn't allow her a view of who was inside.

"T'Challa, please. What is going on?"

The king pushed the door open slowly and ushered his sister inside.

Shuri couldn't contain the gasp that left her lips. _Killmonger was still alive!_ He was laid delicately on the hoverbed with a blade jutting out of his chest. His breathing was slow and strangled.

Shuri approached cautiously, half afraid that the man would rise from the bed, pull the blade from his own chest, and slit her throat in the seconds it'd take him to succumb to the wound. "By make it right, you obviously mean pull that out of him and let him die, right?" she asked. "Do not tell me that you mean otherwise."

"Shuri, please."

"Bast! He is a _monster_! It is best to be rid of him. Let him die."

There was something about the way his sister called their cousin a monster that struck a nerve in T'Challa. He had seen Erik at his most vulnerable. He watched him cry over the loss of his father, the loss of all the opportunities that came with it. Erik was just a broken man driven by grief and misguided vengeance. And T'Challa knew that he himself was not much different. When his father had been killed in the bombing, T'Challa had vowed his own revenge. He could only imagine how he would feel, what kind of hate would have festered in his heart if he had been Erik's age when his father was taken from him, if he had been left completely alone. To hear Shuri speak of Erik with such contempt infuriated T'Challa. How could she not realize that they were so similar? How could she not have compassion when she knew what it felt like to be without a father?

"He is our family, Shuri. You will fix him. I am not asking you as your brother, I am telling you as your king!"

Shuri did not protest any further. Instead, she simply lifted her kimoyo beads towards Erik and retracted his suit back into the golden necklace around his neck. His body immediately shivered against the sudden change in temperature against his skin.

Without scanning him, Shuri knew the blade was embedded in his heart. "How long has it been like this? She gestured to the blade.

"Maybe an hour, I am not sure."

"An hour?! What took you so long to get here? Why did you not call me sooner? An hour! This needs to be done quickly if he has any chance, and you have wasted an hour! What were you doing all that time?"

T'Challa shook his head, "I was doing him a favor. It is not something that you need to know of."

Shuri didn't even care to ask. She plucked a handheld device from a rolling metal try near the hoverbed and proceeded to scan Erik's body with it. The device whirred quietly as it passed over his form, then beeped approvingly when she finished. Soon, holographic images of Erik's body and internal organs began to fill the air in front of her.

"Well?"

"He is bleeding inside. Into the sack around his heart. It's squeezing the heart muscle, keeping it from beating as it should. Even if I can take the blade out safely, he has probably not been getting enough oxygen to his brain because there is not enough room for his heart muscle to expand to pump the blood and circulate the oxygen. He could be brain dead shortly, if not already." It came out sounding like she didn't care, and she really didn't.

T'Challa's frustration and disappointment was evident on his face. The fact that he was responsible for this made his own heart ache. He watched his cousin's chest rise and fall slowly, his heart struggling to keep beating.

"Brother," Shuri's voice pulled him from his gaze. "I will try my best, aye?" She was already busy calling their top aides and nurses, and placing an oxygen mask over Erik's mouth and nose.

T'Challa nodded and turned to exit the room. He couldn't continue watching his cousin struggle to live.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_"Daka?!" Hakeem called into the open door of his friend's apartment. He could hear N'Jadaka crying. "Daka, you alright?"_

_N'Jadaka didn't answer. He didn't even acknowledge his best friend. He stayed where he was, sitting on the floor with his father's head in his lap._

_"The fuck happened, Daka?"_

_That was the first time N'Jadaka checked out. He didn't even hear his friend talking to him. Nor did he realize when Hakeem's mother came in and pried his hold off of his father. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the hallway of the apartment complex with his knees pulled up to his chest, crying into his jeans. He had no idea how he'd gotten there or how much time had passed. His heart began to race. What had just happened to him? Did someone drug him? Did the king come back and mess with his mind?_

_"Hey, calm down, bud."_

_N'Jadaka jerked his head towards the voice, but he couldn't understand what it was saying. Everything sounded like he was under water._

_There was a tall, lanky, white police officer with blonde buzzcut hair standing a couple of feet away from him, and N'Jadaka couldn't help but press himself further into the wall, like if he tried hard enough, the drywall would swallow him and allow him to disappear._

_The cop squatted down in front of him, "What's your name, bud?"_

_N'Jadaka's eyes were wide, he was beginning to hyperventilate. Why couldn't he understand the words coming out of this guy's mouth?_

_The officer placed a comforting hand on N'Jadaka's knee. N'Jadaka tried desperately to ground himself in the comforting touch._

_When he finally got his breathing under control, the cop asked again, "Bud, what's your name?"_

_N'Jadaka looked at him wide eyed. But his mouth didn't move. No words came to him._

_The officer sighed and patted N'Jadaka's knee twice before he stood up and stepped into the boy's apartment._

_"The boy," The officer was directing his question to someone specific in the den of chaos that rang out from inside the apartment. "Does he speak? Is he, ya'know, all there?_

_N'Jadaka was offended by the remark. He was a bright boy, he'd even been skipped ahead a grade. He just couldn't find words right now. They'd all died with his father._

_"His name's N'Jadaka." It was Hakeem's mother. He could hear the tears in her voice. "And he's not slow."_

_"...Ninejidinka?" The officer asked._

_"N-Ja-Da-Ka." Hakeem responded this time, saying each syllable slowly and deliberately for the officer._

_"Ninjadanke." The officer still had it wrong. "Alright, well. Ninjadanke's not much for conversation right now. You all know where his mother might be? He have any other family in town?"_

_"His momma was picked up by a few of_ y'all _a little while ago. Ain't nobody seen her since." There was an edge in Hakeem's mother's voice that N'Jadaka hadn't heard before. Contempt. "Don't matter no way. She ain't fit to take care of that boy. Her poor mind left her years ago. I don't know if she got any family around, and most of his daddy's family lives in Africa somewhere, I think."_

 _N'Jadaka hated when people implied his mother was crazy. She wasn't_ crazy _. His father had made sure he knew that. His mother was just... lost sometimes._

_He tried to remember the last time he'd seen her, but for some reason, he couldn't quite place when it'd been. It couldn't have been that long ago..._

_"Hey, Ninjadanke," The cop was back. He tried to smile at the boy, but N'Jadaka could see the sadness in it. "You know where your mom might be?"_

_N'Jadaka cut his eyes at the man. His name really was not that hard to get right._

_"You got any aunts or uncles around?"_

_Hopefully his uncle was long gone by now._

_"How about you hop up off the floor, bud? Let's go on down stairs, yeah? We'll take you down to the station and get some food in you, get you warmed up, maybe you'll feel more like taking then. Come on."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reconstruction of Shuri's lab was underway within days of her brother's battle with Killmonger. Most of the debris had been cleared and the structure had been stabilized to allow her entry during the reconstruction process. There wasn't too much left from before, mainly just the basic square footage of the space remained. That didn't deter her from dragging in a folding table and some lighting kits. She was determined to oversee the reconstruction first hand. So, when her brother entered, clad in his royal robes for the first time since W'Kabi had led Killmonger into the throne room and the day that would forever be etched in her memory as the worst day of her life, Shuri was glad to see him even though he was interrupting her work.

"Look at you, eh? Dressed to impress." She stood from the work stool she was perched on at the table and examined T'Challa's appearance. "Still with the sandals in my lab though," she chided. T'Challa didn't seem to be in much of a mood for teasing.

Shuri watched her brother slump down on a stool on the opposite side of the table in what remained of her most cherished space. He swept the blueprints and lab plans she had been pouring over aside and let his forehead rest against the cool tabletop for a few moments before he sat up and looked at her expectantly.

"Well?" He asked.

"Of course," she surmised. Her brother was not here to see her or find out how progress was coming on something so dear to her. No, the past few days, T'Challa had had a one-track mind. The only thing they discussed, despite the many, many things that needed discussing, was Killmonger. Shuri shook her head, "I can do a lot of things here brother, I am very capable. But Killmong—"

T'Challa's eyes narrowed and his jaw set when Shuri almost referred to their cousin by a moniker that her brother had already instructed her _never_ to utter in his presence again.

She took a breath and began again, "Erik's injury was... complex. He has not yet awoken from the last surgery."

It had been the fourth surgery Shuri had overseen so far, this one being the second in a series that would repair the paracardium around Erik's heart. He would still need yet another before they would begin to know if he might recover in the slightest.

"It went well though?"

"As well as to be expected. I cannot guarantee that he—" She stopped herself and instead took in her brother's haggard face. "When did you last sleep?"

T'Challa thought for a moment. When _had_ he slept last? "J'Abariland maybe?"

"Brother!" Shuri exclaimed. "You must sleep. Your injuries require rest and care as well."

He disregarded her comment with a wave of his hand, "Tell me of Erik. Continue."

Shuri placed a comforting hand on her brother's shoulder. "A dagger through the heart is not the same as a bullet in the spine. It is more complicated. Even here. I am not a miracle worker, brother. Erik has survived his surgeries so far. His heart beats on its own, and, though it struggles greatly, it is a good sign."

"But he has not woken." T'Challa reiterated Shuri's previous statement in a matter of fact tone.

"No. Give him time to heal, brother."

T'Challa nodded. He placed his hand on top of his sister's in an effort to soothe some of the worry lacing her features. "I am fine," He assured her with a faint smile as he stood up. "I will go sit with Erik for a little while, then I promise I will take a nap."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

T'Challa sat at his cousin's bedside for hours, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, listening to the steady beeping and droning of the machines that monitored Erik. As tired as he was, T'Challa found it to be incredibly difficult to tear himself away. There was so much that he didn't know about his cousin. The curiosity at the forefront of his mind though was why his cousin had waited all this time to come back. Was it really his military training, did he truly believe the people of Wakanda would be easier to corral with T'Chaka dead? Was it a coincidence that he had been able to subdue Klaue? How long had Erik been plotting all of this, any of this? Was his whole life just one grand play for revenge?

T'Challa hoped not. Erik's determination was an admirable quality, but to think that it stemmed from a lifetime of hatred fueled by loss made T'Challa's heart ache for his cousin. Even though he was without his own father now, T'Challa couldn't imagine what it would have been like to grow up without him. And though he didn't remember his uncle N'Jobu too well, he remembered always having fun with him when he was around. N'Jobu had always been willing to play with T'Challa and his friends when he was little. It was hard to imagine N'Jobu being corrupted into... well... he wasn't exactly sure.

A broken rasping sound pulled T'Challa from his thoughts. His eyes opened wide. When they had fallen closed, he wasn't sure.

Erik seemed to be having a sudden difficulty breathing. His throat worked constantly like he was choking.

T'Challa touched his kimoyo beads and the head of Erik's bed began to raise. Once Erik's breathing returned to normal, T'Challa ceased the bed's adjustment. But even though his cousin was breathing normally again, his face was still contorted. There was no anger or hatred in his features, as T'Challa had seen when Erik had been brought to him in the throne room. Instead, all T'Challa could find in Erik's face was pain.

"I am starting to wonder if maybe I was wrong," T'Challa spoke aloud. "Maybe I should have allowed you to end your suffering."

Erik exhaled a particularly ragged breath, and without a thought T'Challa reached for him. He placed a comforting hand on his cousin's arm, stroking his thumb over the scarred skin.

"I do not know if I have done the right thing, but I do know that I do not regret trying to do the right thing," T'Challa sighed. "You must try now too, N'Jadaka. You have fought many battles in your life. You can fight this one as well."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_N'Jadaka had been with his new foster family for two weeks, and still he hadn't uttered a single word since his father's death. There was nothing to say really. These white people didn't give a real shit about him, they were just one of those holier than thou couple's who "didn't see color," yet managed to have a house full of black foster kids._

Whatever _._

_N'Jadaka rolled his eyes at the absurdity of it as he sat alone at the kitchen table, sorting a box of Mike and Ike candies into separate piles based on flavor._

_Miss Carol was busy preparing a meatloaf, tearing up pieces of toast and tossing them in a bowl of raw ground beef. It was the third time they were having meatloaf for dinner since he arrived. Dry meatloaf, boxed mashed potatoes, and overcooked green beans. No gravy. No seasonings. It was a far cry from the African beef stew and kelewele his father had made them the night that he died, but N'Jadaka was grateful for the food nonetheless._

_"Erik?" Miss Carol called from where she stood at the sink, washing her hands after she'd used them to mush up the meatloaf ingredients._

_N'Jadaka lifted his head from where he was busy counting up the green Mike and Ike's. He popped a lime-flavored candy into his mouth and looked at her expectantly. He was still getting used to being called by him English name and wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it. He responded to it though nonetheless._

_"You wanna go watch TV with the rest of the boys?"_

_Miss Carol encouraged N'Jadaka whenever she could to at least try to socialize with the other foster boys. His silence and desire to remove himself from his peers saddened her. She knew he had been an only child and had been told by Khadijah, Hakeem's mother, that he didn't have many friends outside of the kids that lived in the apartment building. Now that he lived with Miss Carol and Mister Garrett, he didn't even have those kids._

_N'Jadaka shook his head before helping himself to another lime-flavored candy._

_"You sure?" she prodded gently, pushing her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. "It sounds like they're watching that show you like, 'Kenneth and Karl.'"_

Kenan and Kel.

_N'Jadaka pushed the red Mike and Ike's further away from the orange pile. He began counting the red pile again as Mister Garrett came into the kitchen._

_"Hey, bud! You're missing your show," Mister Garrett beamed enthusiastically as he placed a hand on N'Jadaka's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Go on out there, check it out. No use sitting in here." Mister Garrett reached over N'Jadaka's small shoulder and grabbed a few red Mike and Ike's from the table. He ate one and held the others in his palm while he moved to lean against the counter, watching his wife as she continued to make dinner._

_N"Jadaka's eyes narrowed tersely. Then he proceeded to collect all the remaining candies from the table and put them back in the box. He folded the box closed and got up from the table, letting the legs of the chair scrape obscenely against the linoleum as he went. Instead of retiring to the living room, he went to find solace in the room he shared with two other boys since they were both watching television._

_"Now what did you go and do that for?" Carol chastised her husband in a harsh whisper._

_"What did I do?!"_

_"You took the red ones!"_

_Garrett looked down at the two candies left in his hand._

_"He sat there sorting those for ten minutes before he ate even a single one. You know how he is!"_

_"I don't know how he is! How am I supposed to know how he is?! I swear, Carol!" Garrett shoved both of the candies in his mouth before continuing, "Of all the kids we've ever had come through this house, that one is the only one that might actually be beyond help. He doesn't even talk for Christ's sake! If he didn't want me to have any candy, he should have said so, but no! He just walks around here like a fucking mute!"_

_Carol flung a dish towel at her husband's chest, "Stop it, Garrett! You know what he's been through! Imagine being his age..." She paused long enough to compose herself, "We have no idea what he saw when his dad was killed. He needs time to process it, and probably therapy for all I know, I don't know! But you doing..._ **that** _... doesn't help."_

_Garrett scratched his thick, ruddy beard as he mulled over what his wife had said. "You're right," he acquiesced. "I'll apologize to him okay? Offer to buy him another box."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik was flat on his back in bed, but he felt the tightness in his chest before he even awoke. It spread through his sternum, and branched out into his ribs, through his collarbone, into his shoulder. Down his arm, into his fingertips. It even coiled in his belly, crawled into his hip and slinked its way down his leg into his toes.

Erik was agony. Tears slipped from his eyes and he choked on his strangled cries. Something was in his mouth, down his throat. Immediately he went to bring his right to his mouth, his left radiating with pins and needles that seemed to keep it from lifting on command, only to find himself unable to lift it more than a few inches. A metallic clanking sounded as he worked to pull his hands up to his mouth.

His throat gagged and worked around whatever resided in it, and his eyes shifted down to get a clearer view. It was too dark in the room to make out anything other than his own cheek bones.

_Calm the fuck down. Just calm down._

He worked to steady his breathing, to breathe in and out slowly through the tube down his throat, He counted to ten mentally. Once he'd gotten ahold of himself, he tried again to lift his hands. The left one still didn't respond, the right still jolted abruptly at the sound of the metal clanking against itself. He vaguely registered that he was most likely cuffed or chained to the bed.

He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes against the intensifying pain in his body. He was suddenly grateful for whatever was down his throat as the desire to scream through the worst of his pain overtook him. Instead, he whimpered quietly around whatever was in his mouth. When the worst of the pain passed, he opened his eyes again, squinting against the darkness to make out anything that might tell him where he was.

To his left, he heard a wooshing sound and he moved to turn his head towards it, only to find his neck restrained as well. His eyes strained to see what the noise was as his pulse increased.

_Can't move... Gotta get outta these cuffs. Vulnerable as fuck._

A faint blue light illuminated from beyond what Erik assumed to be an open doorway before a shadow of a figure filled the space.

He pulled against the cuffs again, his blood pressure increasing as he began to hyperventilate.

"Mr. Stevens, please. You're going to hurt yourself."

The woman's voice was soft and calming, even with her thick accent. She waved her hands in front of a panel on the wall next to the door and the lights in the room flickered on. They were dim, but Erik was grateful for the ability to see. His eyes darted around the room, quickly taking in every detail he could.

White walls and a rather nice lounge chair were all he could see from his vantage point. But there was a faint blue light reflecting off of the walls that originated from somewhere over his right shoulder.

_Hospital._

The woman had approached his bed side and was clutching hold of a wet white towel.

"Mr. Stevens," she began again. Erik's panicked eyes flicked back over to her, inspecting her.

_Break the cuffs, snap her neck, run._

Erik pulled at the cuffs again, using all of the strength he could muster in his pain laden body. They didn't budge.

"Mr. Stevens, please. They are for your own good." The woman leaned over his bedside, swiping the cool towel over his face. Erik realized he was sweating. Whether it was from his exertion or the pain, he wasn't sure. As the woman continued to pass the cloth over his face, down his neck, over his naked shoulders, Erik noted the name tag on her shirt.

_Chandaki._

"You're in a hospital, please calm yourself. You were severely injured in battle."

Erik tried to speak but choked on whatever was still down his throat.

"You were intubated, you were having a great deal of difficulty breathing on your own." Chandaki supplied. "You cannot speak around the tube. However, since you are now awake and seem to be breathing well, I will recommend that it be removed in the morning."

Erik steadied his breathing, his eyes shifting from Chandaki's face to settle on the ceiling.

"Do you remember how you got here, Mr. Stevens?"

Erik racked his brain. The last full, complete, coherent memory he had was...

_Fuckin' T'Challa._

Chandaki noted the memories flashing through Erik's features. She folded the towel into quarters and worked meticulously to wipe around the intubation tubing in Erik's mouth. Erik's eyes slipped closed at the gently touch.

"Your cousin, the king, brought you here." She paused as though she were trying to find the right words. "That was... some time ago."

His eyes snapped open, his gaze fixed on her.

_How fuckin' long I been here?_

Chandaki sighed as she registered the questions in his eyes.

"King T'Challa brought you here a little over a week ago... Things have been difficult, Mr. Stevens. You were greatly injured. For the first few days, we did not think that you would live."

 _I wanted to die_.

Erik's body tensed as another wave of pain radiated from his chest. He shut his eyes. The dim lights in the room were suddenly too bright, Chandaki's voice too loud.

Chandaki placed a gentle hand on his cheek and despite himself, Erik leaned into to the touch as he whimpered around the tubing lodged in his throat.

"I will get you something for the pain." The words left her lips as she was already halfway out the door, leaving Erik longing for her touch, for anything to ground him against the pain in his chest. She was back in an instant with a syringe full of pink liquid that Erik could swear was glowing. She moved around the bed, somewhere behind him, and he struggled to follow her with his eyes. She pushed the syringe into the tubing that flowed from an IV bag hanging above his head, into a mess of tubing connected to him, flowing into him in various places on his body that he was just now aware of.

"This will help. It may make you drowsy though."

Erik could feel the cold liquid enter his veins and his body immediately relaxed as the pain subsided.

Chandaki watched Erik's eyelids begin to droop. The tension slowly left his body as he slipped into a deep sleep. When his breathing evened, she raised her wrist and fiddled with her kimoyo beads. Once communication was established, a hologram flickered to life in front of her.

"Good evening, general." Chandaki began. "I have been instructed to inform you when Mr. Stevens regained consciousness. He awoke precisely a half hour ago, but—"

"I will alert the king," General Okoye interrupted her and ended the communication before Chandaki could finish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was another full day before Erik awoke again to a body that did not feel like his own. Weak and incredibly pained, and unable to force his limbs to obey his commands, Erik laid in silence, doing his best to tolerate the nearly intolerable tingling that ebbed and flowed through his left arm and left leg. The pain washed in and out like the tide. It was like pins and needles times thousand. The tingling creeped in without warning, and when it would subside, Erik was left with numb limbs that he couldn't will to move. Sometimes when the pain came, it was worse than the last, sometimes better. Regardless, Erik made no show of his distress. He refused to give anyone the satisfaction, though for some reason he wondered if T'Challa would be more concerned than satisfied.

His intubation tube had been removed at some point after Chandaki had dosed him with whatever the fuck was in that syringe. Erik knew it had been more than pain medication. Probably a strong sedative based on how long he had been knocked out for. Either way, he was grateful the tubing was gone. He was at least able to grit his teeth against the agony.

And fuck it was agony. Erik had been through a lot of shit in his life, a lot of shit that hurt physically and mentally, but this? This was like nothing he could have ever even imagined.

It was during one of those moments when the pain griped him like a vice that his cousin chose to make himself present at Erik's bedside. Chandaki stood hesitantly in the doorway, her curly black hair pulled into a messy ponytail, hands pushed into the pockets of her apron. He could tell she was clutching something in her fists. Probably more of that sedative in case he tried anything with the king.

Erik couldn't help but scoff through the pain. What the fuck was he gonna do laid up like this? He wasn't a threat to a fly in his current position. When the pins and needles finally began to subside, he tipped his eyes from Chandaki to his cousin, staring straight and hardened into his face.

T'Challa's eyes were downcast. He had trouble meeting Erik's gaze. Guilt riddled his expression. He was responsible for his cousin's pain.

"Erik," T'Challa started as he moved around to the side of the bed, taking in Erik's prone form and making a noticeable effort to refrain from looking into his cousin's face. "In the morning you are scheduled for surgery."

Erik regarded T'Challa with a look of suspicion. Still, he did not break his silence. He fixed a permanent sneer on his face and watched as T'Challa became visually uncomfortable. The king took a deep breath to steady himself.

T'Challa continued without prompting. He honestly did not expect a response from his cousin. There was too much pain in the younger man's face to have expected him to be reasonable, too much anger to have expected him to be anything like the man he had dragged from the mines.

"Your choice to remain silent is... it is alright. It will make this _discussion_ much easier on the both of us." T'Challa paused when Erik's head lulled to one side. It was obvious to the king that he did not have his cousin's full attention as another wave of tingling began to set into Erik's limbs.

"I do not mind your silence," the king continued. "It is peaceful. You deserve some peace. That is why I will not pressure you to talk with me while I am here. However, I know you have not been given a full update on your injury and your health."

Erik scoffed again. He could give a shit less. He didn't need the specifics to know he was in fucking pain. He'd asked to die, but instead he woke up in torment that was often enough to take his breath away. T'Challa had made this choice for him, forced this agony upon him. Now he wanted to sit around explaining why the shit hurt. It was laughable.

"When I—" T'Challa paused and cleared his throat, seeming to reevaluate his choice of words before he continued. "When you were stabbed..."

_When you fuckin' stabbed me, you piece of shit!_

"The blade penetrated your sternum and embedded itself directly into your heart."

Erik rolled his eyes. His cousin was full of shit. If he'd been stabbed in the heart, he'd have been dead, like he wanted.

"Our medical advances allow you to live." T'Challa supplied as though he knew the thoughts running through Erik's mind. He touched the kimoyo beads on his wrist and a holographic image of the human heart was projected into the air. "But, not without complications. The heart is encased in what is called the pericardium. It is the sack around your heart that holds the fluid that cushions the heart from damaging itself as it beats. The wound to your heart, it bled into the pericardium. This filled the sack with more fluid than necessary, squeezing your heart and constricting the flow of blood and, therefore, the flow of oxygen to your brain.

Erik was listening intently now, concerned. He was more than smart enough to know what could happen if his brain had gone without sufficient oxygen for too long, what probably did happen. It would explain the terrible tingling in his limbs, the bouts of numbness.

"You have had much nerve damage. But you _seem_ to not be in much pain, so that is a good sign, aye?"

The way T'Challa looked him dead in the eyes now told Erik that he didn't really expect an answer, and that he knew Erik was in much more pain than he allowed to show.

"Regardless, there is still damage to the pericardium that must be repaired. You are scheduled for surgery in the morning."

Erik's head bobbed once in acknowledgement. Then, he shifted as best as he could to get more comfortable in the bed. T'Challa reached a hand out quickly to help and Erik allowed it. He didn't have the energy to fight his cousin. He hadn't had the energy to do much since he'd woken up in this room.

When Erik was settled, T'Challa stood silently at his bedside for a moment. The movement had sent Erik's body cascading into another wave of tingling that he tried desperately not to show, but he was tired. And it hurt.

When the slightest whimper escaped his lips, T'Challa nodded his head in Chandaki's direction. The woman approached slowly, pulling the syringe with the pink fluid from her apron as she did.

Erik's good hand shot out quickly, with there being just enough slack in the cuffs for him to grab hold of her arm as she moved past his bedside to reach his IV. His grip was strong enough to hurt, strong enough to make her drop the medication as she gasped. The syringe clattered to the floor and rolled under the bed.

"Erik!" T'Challa voice boomed throughout the room, drawing his cousin's attention from the young woman.

Erik's grip went slack at the sudden change his cousin's demeanor. His hand dropped back down on to the bed.

"You will not put your hands on anyone here in Wakanda. Do you understand?"

Erik was in too much pain to argue. His breath came out in pants and gasps and he closed his eyes to steal himself against the pain. He counted to ten as the worst of it subsided before he opened his eyes again. He held T'Challa's gaze.

"N-no more." He passed his tongue over his chapped bottom lip. "No more d-drugs."

His voice was gruff and weak from nonuse, and his throat hurt as he pushed the words out.

"You will continue to be in pain," T'Challa explained unnecessarily.

Erik nodded his understanding before he closed his eyes and let his head sink back into the pillow. He'd handled it so far. He could continue to handle it until his surgery. Until these Wakandans fixed whatever was still broken in his heart. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since the world’s a little topsy turvy right now, I started a new Instagram account, @ 1stLadyofSnark. The goal with it is to simply provide a bit of light in the darkness right now. I am also taking requests through the IG DMs since I have so much free time now, cause, social distancing and I don’t know how the hell to use Tumblr. There’s not much up yet, but I’d appreciate a follow (you can stalk me even).   
> @ 1stLadyofSnark

When morning came, T’Challa entered Erik’s room early, with Chandaki by his side. The woman had the same demeanor as the day prior. Her hands tucked into her apron, clutching that vile of pink liquid. Though, Erik presumed that this time it was more of a safety measure than it was for his comfort. 

For the most part, he remained quiet and relatively docile while Chandaki worked to unhook and un-attach any of the medical equipment that would transport with him down to the surgical suit. Frankly, he wasn’t interested in what she was doing. If she had wanted to kill him, she could have done that long ago, so he had no need to monitor her actions. He was instead intrigued by his cousin, who stood silently at the foot of the bed with his hands clasped behind his back, an eyebrow arched as he looked directly into Erik’s face. 

Erik wasn’t sure what the king was trying to discern, but whatever it was, he was going to make damn sure he wasn’t successful. With his expression neutral, Erik held the older man’s gaze while Chandaki finished up her work. 

Chandaki disconnected Erik from many of the machines that had whirred away for the past few weeks. She smiled down at him as she removed the IV bag from its stand and placed it on the bed next to him. When his eyes caught hers, he returned the gesture. He couldn’t help it. There was something about her that seemed familiar. Every time she had been in his presence, she seemed to remind him more and more of…

Don’t fuckin’ go there. Let that shit go! Let it fuckin’ go. 

Erik turned his face from the woman and closed his eyes in an effort to shut her out of his mind. 

Once Chandaki was done, she stepped onto a release leaver on the base of the bed. To Erik’s surprise, the mechanism allowed for the bed to detach from the base where it had been stabilized in the room. There was a slight dip as it hovered and balanced his weight, then proceeded to glide unaided from the room and down an empty corridor. 

T’Challa walked along side of him, lost in his own thoughts, seeming so much more removed from the situation that he had just a moment ago. 

The bed came to stop in front of the glass doors to the surgical suite. Shuri was busy inside, rearranging instruments and performing a few last checks on the robotic surgical assistant that took up a large portion of the room, with numerous arms, devices, and lasers ready to dive into Erik’s body. 

His brows knitted at the idea that this child was going to cut him open and attempt to fix him. No, if anything, Erik was certain that Shuri was the one of the T’Chaka’s children that he could not trust. Especially after what’d he done to her…

“Don’t worry,” T’Challa drew Erik’s attention, seeming to read his thoughts. “She has overseen each of your previous surgeries. If she wanted to kill you, she would have already.”

With that, the king taped at the panel next to the doors and they slid open. Erik’s bed continued its self-glided trek with T’Challa by his side the entire way…  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Klaue was a dick. Everything about his personality rubbed Erik the wrong way. Unfortunately, the man was a necessity. If he was going to bring his plan to fruition, Erik had to grin and bare it. Whatever ‘it’ may be. 

“We need new blood,” Klaue announced without much fanfare as he entered the warehouse that he and his team had been working from to plan their next moves. Klaue claimed it was a necessary steppingstone. He needed something before they could go after the score that Erik really had his eyes on, so Klaue promised an vast array of weapons to some gang of half-wits in exchange for what he was currently seeking, for what he needed first before they could move on to the next part of the plan. Baby steps. Patience. 

Erik spun around in his desk chair, tearing his attention from the monitors he where had been busy organizing a detailed inventory of weapons Kalue’s crew was currently in possession of, and what they needed to obtain before they could make the deal. Whatever it was they were trading for, Klaue hadn’t allowed them to be privy to, but Erik knew it was important. How important though would be key, and that was what he needed to determine before he fully agreed to go along with things. 

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back in his chair, “Who you got in mind?”

Klaue’ eyes twinkled, “Think I finally found one that’ll tickle yer fancy, eh boy?”

“Doubt it.” Erik whirled himself back around to his monitors and continued the inventory. 

Ever since he had joined Klaue’s team, the man had been parading women around in front of him in an effort to get him to relax, let loose. Erik wasn’t interested. He was there to do a job, not to get his rocks off like some horny teenager who couldn’t control himself. Besides, the women Klaue seemed to favor weren’t Erik’s type, and the women that had passed through the team over the past year definitely weren’t any better. 

Admittedly, there had been one, brief recruit of Klaue’s that did peak Erik’s interest once, and Erik had let his guard down enough in that brief period of time and allowed himself to receive the best blowjob of his life… on multiple occasions. 

But Erik knew better than to take their relationship any further than that, no matter how much he may have wanted to. He had goals he needed to stay focused on. Everything that came with a relationship like that was a distraction.

Fortunately, Klaue’s team was pretty fluid, with people coming and going once Klaue found no further use for them, and Erik was spared having to explain why he wouldn’t entertain anything more than having his dick sucked. 

Aside from himself, Limbani was the only other constant piece in Klaue’s every shifting puzzle. The man was relatively quiet and kept to himself. Initially, that fact made Erik suspicious of his intentions, but after some time, he came to realize that Limbani was just as tired of Klaue’s over the top antics as Erik was, and removing himself from many situations and conversations was Limbani’s way of sparing himself from the foolishness.

“Aw, don’t write her off already, eh? She’s got a nice little fit body, that curly hair you like. And, not to mention,” Klaue grabbed the back of Erik’s chair with the only hand he had, his other arm being lost in an incident that Erik still didn’t know the full details of. He leaned in close to Erik’s ear, “She’s smart as a whip.”

“I’d hope so.” Erik dug the toe of his boot into the cement floor to spin himself back around, but Klaue’s grip held firm. 

“Maybe even smarter than you.”

“Doubt it.”

Erik noted that Limbani’s attention was locked on the exchange. The fact that Klaue took time to mention the woman’s intellect was a sure change from regular occurrences with female team members. It had both of their attentions.

“I never really thought I’d run across another brain that ticked as fast as yours, but I mean it when I say it. She’s your equal at the very least.”

“We’ll see.”

“We will! You’ll meet her in Montenegro. Secure the last of what’s needed to complete the inventory.”

At that, Erik forcefully smacked Klaue’s hand from the back of his chair. “The fuck you mean? I ain’t tryina be babysittin’ nobody. ‘Sides, I work better alone.”

“Easy, boy.” Klaue said with a laugh, his only hand up in mock surrender as he took a step back. “You need someone watching your six, and I need to know how she performs.” He winked as the grin on his face continued to spread. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following few days after his surgery were the same for Erik. When he awoke, T’Challa would be there, sitting at his bedside, gazing at him with a look that Erik couldn’t quite place. He would allow T’Challa to change his bandages without protest. Once that task was complete, T’Challa would extend a hand to Erik and grip him firmly around his right forearm. Erik would return to maneuver, gripping his cousin’s forearm tightly in return as they both worked to pull his weakened, languid body from where it rested against the bed so that T’Challa could prop an extra pillow behind him before setting a tray of food down in Erik’s lap. 

The two sat in silence while Erik ate, grateful that he still had use of dominant hand, worried he’d never regain use of the other. He was careful not to let those concerns show on his face though, because his cousin never stopped looking at him. T’Challa regarded him with a great deal of curiosity, like there were many questions he wanted to ask. But the silence continued to stretch on between them. When Erik had finished his food, T’Challa would collect the tray, remove the additional pillows from behind his cousin, and then leave Erik alone with his thoughts. 

Erik presumed his cousin had duties and responsibilities to tend to, especially since there had been so much destruction wrought upon the capital when the warships Erik had deployed were downed. He briefly wondered how many innocent bystanders had been caught in the fray. He pushed the thought aside when a hint of guilt began to accompany the thought. That wasn’t his fault. It was T’Challa’s. If his cousin had had the decency to stay dead, innocent civilian lives wouldn’t have been lost. Still, Erik wanted to know how many.

It would be midday when the king returned without a greeting. The two went through much of the same routine as the morning, with T’Challa helping to right Erik so he could eat lunch. When he was finished, the king collected the tray and disappeared until late in the evening. 

Each day was the same and hours would pass with Erik left with nothing but his own thoughts. 

When T’Challa came to Erik at night with dinner, he would often stay past when Erik finished his meal. Erik assumed that since T’Challa was done with his kingly duties for the day, he had time to spend with his cousin. Whether it was out of guilt or curiosity, Erik still was not sure. Regardless, as the time would tick away, the two still remained in silence. To Erik, there was nothing to talk about. He knew his cousin wasn’t looking for an apology. An explanation maybe, but Erik still wasn’t sure what it was he was to explain. 

The silence between them would ring on until late in the night. Then, T’Challa would leave only to come back in the morning when the two would begin the cycle all over again. 

Nineteen days after Erik’s initial admittance into the royal wing of the hospital, T’Challa entered his room late one evening. Erik immediately noticed that his cousin had not brought him any dinner. 

T’Challa helped his cousin prop himself up still, as though a meal would be coming. 

“I must make you aware,” T’Challa started. His voice was laced with a tinge of concern that Erik picked up on but did not react to. “I have some business to tend to in America. I shall only be a gone a few days, but while I am gone, is it alright Chandaki cares for you?”

Erik’s gaze hardened. He was suspicious of that woman and the medications that the king had allowed her to dose him with. Additionally, her presence made him uncomfortable for a multitude of reasons, yet soothed him wholly for the exact same ones. Because of this, he wanted to ask T’Challa exactly how long he would be gone. He didn’t though. 

“I have spoken with her and we both are of the agreement that you will not be administered any medication that you do not ask for.” 

Erik smirked at that. They both knew he wouldn’t part his lips to so much ask for a glass of water, let alone ask for medication.

“Perhaps when I return, we can talk though. The both of us. You mostly.” 

T’Challa was interrupted when Chandaki entered the room with Erik’s dinner. She smiled at Erik and Erik turned his gaze from her. 

“Do not be this way, Erik.” T’Challa chided.

Despite how displeased T’Challa seemed, Erik simply could not bring himself to look at the woman. He had held her gaze before and each time his mind wandered back to everything he had denied himself with that one bullet. Everything he had longed for before he even realized he’d wanted it. 

He had done his best not to think about the woman with whom he’d shared so much in the past couple of years. Anyone who’d known the things she’d done wouldn’t have thought twice about putting a bullet between her eyes, but Erik had hesitated, because…

Don’t think about it. Just put it in the past. Pretend it never happened, it never manifested. 

A lump formed in his throat at the thought of her last moments. Their last moment. He had comforted her. He’d never seen her afraid before; not once in all of the things that they had accomplished together had she ever shown any fear. But standing there tight in Klaue’s grip with a gun to her head changed her. The darkness inside of her gave way to a palpable fear that Erik felt the need to soothe for more reasons than he could have comprehended while it was happening. But now, looking back on it, he knew it was because her fear wasn’t for just herself. It was for them. It was for him. 

She was afraid of what would happen to him if Klaue had ended her life right in front of him. It was why she apologized. It had been a long day for all of them and she allowed herself to fall into a comfort that Erik had always warned her against. She hadn’t even noticed the shift in Erik’s demeanor, the quick draw of weapons, Klaue’s hand slipping up her body to pull her close to him, point his weapon at her temple, the change in Erik’s breathing as fear punched him dead in the gut.

Don’t think about it…

Erik’s heart twisted, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his injury or from the thought that he had actually snuffed out the life of the last person on Earth who had given two fucks about him. He had to do it though. He’d been so close to avenging his father that letting… whatever was developing and growing with Linda get in his way wasn’t an option.

Stop thinkin’ ‘bout it!

“Are you alright?” T’Challa shook his cousin’s shoulder gently.

The younger man had slipped from a moment of outright defiance into…

Erik’s breathing was erratic, he was sweating, his eyes were wild and unfocused. The heart monitor quickened with the accelerated beat of his heart. His dominant hand fisted the sheets and his teeth clenched so hard the veins in his neck began to strain. 

T’Challa continued to shake Erik’s shoulder, hopeful to jolt him out of the anxiety that had gripped him so suddenly and completely. 

“Kumkani,” Chandaki started hesitantly. She sat the tray with Erik’s dinner down on the rolling table next to his bed before her hand reached into her apron and retrieved one of those vials of pink liquid. She moved to the IV tubing, but before she could push the medication, T’Challa stopped her.

She tried again. “Kumkani, he is overwhelmed. He needs to calm himself.”

“I meant it when I told him that he would not be administered any medication that he did not ask for. Even if he’s…” the king trailed off, focused instead of his cousin’s face. He brought a hand up to Erik’s face and turned it towards his own, forcing him to catch his gaze. With his other hand, T’Challa rubbed the pad of his thumb against the back of Erik’s wrist as he worked to loosen his grip on the sheets.

Erik’s wild eyes settled in T’Challa’s soft gaze. His breathing began to slow. In his mind he counted to ten, doing his best to pull himself back from the thoughts that had so easily consumed him. 

Even as the younger man’s breathing evened out, T’Challa still held his gaze with eyes laced full of concern.

“You have anxiety?”

It wasn’t really a question, more of an observation. 

Erik gave a curt nod, then he pulled his wrist away from where the king was still working a soothing pattern into it. 

T’Challa hummed quietly to himself. He moved around the room towards the door, ready to leave. “We’ll have much to talk about when I return then.” 

As the king left, he nodded toward Chandaki and she followed quickly. Her eyes scrutinized Erik until she was through the doorway and he was left alone again with his thoughts. 

He was going to have to be careful with the woman until the king returned, she wouldn’t hesitate to go against his wishes and slip that pink shit into his IV at the slightest hint of a problem. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One.

Erik only had one bullet left in his clip. He’d managed to hit each of his targets, each of the fucks that thought they could screw him. Now he was crouched behind a concrete pillar in the parking garage where the exchange was supposed to go down.... 

He’d picked Linda up at the docks and past a quick introduction, the two had ridden to the site together in silence. Their SUV was stocked with every item they were to hand over, and Erik packed a few extra for his own security. 

From the moment the exchange started, the hairs on the back of his neck were on high alert. Something was off. Linda made short work of handing over the inventory and stood a good beat away while the three Slovenians checked out the weaponry. They spoke to each in other in a language that Erik didn’t understand, and he wondered if maybe Linda did. She seemed to be listening intently. Once it was decided that they had been delivered everything that was promised, the large one, Boris, turned to Erik and smiled. He spread his arms wide before he clapped his hands together once.

“Now you see what we have for you, yes?”

“Sure.” Erik followed the three men to their own vehicle. Boris opened the trunk and took a large black case from inside. He closed the trunk then placed the case on top. Erik took a step closer. He didn’t even know what the fuck he was supposed to be getting. How the hell could he know whether or not they were screwing with him?

Boris popped the locks on either side of the case and let it flip open. 

“Are you fucking shitting me?” Erik hissed at the man. “This isn’t what I came here for!”

“No?” Boris seemed offended. His two companions began to flank Erik on either side, hand’s reaching behind them into their waist bands.

“No. The fuck is this shit?” He directed his question at Linda this time, but the woman only continued to stand where she was without a single emotion crossing her face.

“Don’t dick me around! I ain’t the one.” Erik asserted again. He reached around Boris to slam the case closed then shoved it across the truck to clatter to concrete. 

“Your boss says you make it work, yes? I only deliver shell. You put in pieces.”

“Nah. I don’t know what you’re tyina pull.” He started to walk away, back towards Linda and the SUV. “We goin’, fuck this.”

Erik heard the draw of a weapon behind him in the same instant he watched Linda draw her own. He turned back in Boris’ direction, hand reaching to the large pocket on his cargo pants, pulling his own gun. 

Linda fired first, hitting one of Boris’ goons in the shoulder. 

Erik let off a few rounds, hitting the same guy twice in the chest before the screeching of tires drew his attention to the entrance ramp on that level of the garage. A slew of muscle cars surrounded them, with more of Boris’s men pouring out of each one, weapons drawn, bullets flying. Erik took cover behind the nearest pillar. 

“Talk to me, Linda! You good?”

“Right as rain. Get the case!” She fired off a barrage of shots. The sounds of the impacts and the drop of bodies against concrete let Erik know she was hitting each of her targets with no issues. 

He poked his head around the pillar to see Boris scrambling across the ground towards the case Erik had discarded. If that was really what he supposed to bring Klaue, he couldn’t let Boris make off with it. 

Erik took a chance breaking his cover, and was immediately met with a barrage of bullets from Boris’s goons. He tucked himself back into safety behind the concrete.

“Give me a little cover, girlie!” Erik yelled over the gunfire. 

He saw Linda enter his field of vision then as she scurried back to their SUV and pulled the driver’s side door open, using it to flank her body before she let of a series of shots.

“You’re gonna have to make it quick, Killmonger!” 

Erik darted from behind the pillar, shooting as he went, staying low on his way to the next pillar to take cover from the return of gunfire.

He had just one bullet left in the clip, one in the chamber. 

“You have to make a move,” Linda yelled.

Erik took the chance without a thought, slipping left around the pillar and taking the shot. He struck Boris in the back of the shoulder and the man slowed before Erik’s second bullet struck the base of Boris’ skull and the man fell without another movement. 

The gunfire intensified then and Erik scrambled low, half crawling across the concrete to pry the case from the dead man’s hands. He heard the SUV start up, and just as he pulled the case from Boris’ grip, Linda rolled the vehicle to a stop, the tailgate taking most of the gunfire.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” 

Erik was barely in the SUV before Linda drove off, his arm still hanging out of the open car door, clutching onto the case as she rammed through the car blocking the exit ramp, sending it spinning into a concrete barrier. 

Erik pulled the case inside and hastily pulled the door shut before Linda peeled down the ramp, tires screeching. Once they were out of the garage, she took the streets with even more speed, the SUV tipping up onto one side as she took a turn entirely too fast.

“Slow the fuck down!” Erik yelled at her. He pulled at the seatbelt, trying to buckle himself in for once. “We cant outrun ‘em if you wreck and we die!”

“Are you always such a panzy?”

Erik eyed her, but said nothing. 

They speed through the city and were soon coasting along the lone stretch of highway along the beach that led back to town. When they were sur, they weren’t being followed, Erik turned around to the backseat where he’d thrown the case and popped it open.

“What is it?” Linda asked. Her eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror to try to get a look. 

Erik sighed, “A fuckin’ prosthetic arm.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Despite how much the king did not want to admit it, Erik had been right in a way. They could be doing more for people around the world that shared features similar to his own. Especially those who grew up under the same circumstances as his cousin. Erik’s hatred and deranged sense of justice were products of his environment and his circumstances. If T’Challa could spare anyone from the emotional pain that Erik obviously shouldered his entire life, he would work to from then on. 

Because of this, he purchased Erik’s old apartment building and many of the buildings that surrounded it in Oakland. His goal was to open the first Wakandan International Outreach Center. T’Challa hoped that perhaps maybe one day Erik would even enjoy heading up the center. It would be nice to see his cousin work as passionately towards something good as he did towards the destruction he wrought. Perhaps. 

T’Challa was aware that that might be a dream that his cousin didn’t share. Frankly, he didn’t know what his cousin’s goals were once he recovered enough from his injury to leave the medical unit. Even after he was discharged from hospital care, he would still have months of physical therapy ahead of him. It would take time and effort before Erik was physically back to his old self, if ever. And even then, T’Challa still needed to inform the council of the fact that Erik was alive. It was something that he had been working hard to keep between those who needed to know. Okoye, Ayo, a few members of the king’s guard, Chandaki, and his sister Shuri were the only people he allowed to share in information regarding Erik and his care. Not because he wanted them to, he would have much preferred to keep things to himself, but because he had needed them in some way or another, at one point or another, to ensure the Erik lived. 

It was clear to T’Challa now though, as he sat quietly on the royal talon fighter, listening to his sister’s excited chatter about the technological advances she was going to begin teaching at outreach center, that he needed to inform the council sooner rather than later that his cousin was still alive. The sooner they knew, the easier it would be for them to come to terms with the fact that he wished to spare Erik any punishment for his actions. Afterall, he had technically committed no crime. T’Challa had accepted his challenge, and he had lost fair and square. Afterward, Erik was king. Any actions that Erik took against T’Challa, the Dora Milaje, Shuri, Okoye, and especially the J’Abari could be seen as protecting the country and the throne against usurpers. His aspirations, goals, orders, demands were all legal under the umbrella of king, even if they were morally misguided. 

“Brother! You are not even listening to me!”

“I’m sorry, I have much on my mind.”

Shuri hummed to herself, already knowing where her brother’s thoughts laid. The same place they had for weeks, on their cousin.

“What is the problem now, eh? He is on the mend. I must admit, I did much better with him than I thought I would be able to. I deserve a pat on the back, but you have not so much as said thank you.”

T’Challa looked across the sand table to where his sister stood with her arms folded and her foot tapping, impatiently waiting for any show of gratitude.

“I do thank you, Shuri. You know that. I just did not think all of this through. I have yet to approach the council of tribal elders about the idea of having Erik be allowed to stay in Wakanda unhindered.”

“Or about the fact that he still lives.”

The king simply nodded.

“You know, it is no secret that I was not keen on the idea of saving his life, but I saw how much it meant to you. And I am even less keen on the idea of allowing that slaughterer to move freely in our homeland, but again, I can see how much it means to you. You must allow the Taifa Ngao to see this as well. They will come to understand even if they do not agree.”

A loud, frustrated huff emitted from the king, “How do I make them understand that this is important to me if I can not articulate to them why it’s important to me? For weeks now I have been jumping through hoops to satisfy some need within me to make things right, but what if I don’t know exactly what that means? What if he is more broken than I initially thought?”

“He is heal—”

“I don’t mean physically,” T’Challa interjected. “He has… I don’t know what he has. Before we left, he had an anxiety attack. I don’t think it was because I was relaying that I was leaving. It seemed like something else.”

Shuri came around the sand table then to sit with her brother, “Tell me.”

“Chandaki has been in communication with me while we have been gone. She said that he was… lost deep within his anxiety for days before he finally accepted medication. He has been mostly sedated since, and I worry that his past may be darker than what we know. If that is the case, what if there is nothing that I can do to make things right?”

Shuri placed a comforting hand on her brother’s shoulder, “Perhaps we should inquire with Agent Ross to see if he may have more information on Kill—I mean, Erik. If he does, you can know what we are dealing with.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When T’Challa arrived back in Wakanda, two of the tribal elders were awaiting his exit from the royal talon fighter: the mining tribe elder and the merchant tribe elder. Both women approached the king with stern faces, expressing their need to have a meeting with him regarding the steps he was already taking to open their once reclusive nation. 

He hadn’t spoken to the elders about it before he began putting his plan in motion. He had acted entirely unilaterally and simply hoped they would understand and agree. Judging by the looks on their faces though, they didn’t.

“We must speak with you, T’Challa,” The Mining Tribe Elder began as the king passed her. He walked quickly, hands clasped behind his back. Both Elders and the Dora Milaje were close on his heels. 

“I understand,” T’Challa affirmed, “But I have a pressing matter to tend to. Would we be able to do this tomorrow sometime?” He didn’t wait for a response. Instead he simply quickened his pace, leaving the two women behind. 

He boarded a hovercraft, Okoye and Ayo climbing aboard shortly after. 

“Was that necessary?” Okoye leveled her disapproving gaze at the king. 

T’Challa sighed, “I have been short of patience lately, I know. Scold me later, Okoye.”

The hovercraft hummed to life and began to pass through the city on its way to the hospital. It couldn’t move fast enough for T’Challa, and the worry was etched on his features, his brow tightly knit. 

Erik was sedated when the king arrived at his bedside. It frustrated T’Challa, who paced the small room with hands clasped, interrogating Chandaki.

“And you are certain that he wished to be administered the medication?”

“Yes, kumkani. He did not ask directly, as he still does not speak, but he his anxiety seemed to heighten his pain and each time I asked if he wished to have it, he would nod.”

T’Challa dismissed the woman and sat, agitated but patient, waiting for the sedation to wear off. He had much to discuss with his cousin.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linda had been different. She was the first woman he thought he might be able to open up to, to trust, to build something more with. There was an ease in their relationship that Erik hadn’t found with anyone else. He didn’t recoil at her touch, or the idea of touching her. He didn’t know if it was just because he was desperate for a connection after being alone for so much of his life, or if he was finally starting to change his mind about who he was, what he was. 

The first time things between the two of them seemed as though they were going to venture past being accomplices, Erik was surprised to find that he wasn’t off put by the idea. He was actually intrigued by the woman in a way that he never had been with any woman before her. And when she’d asked him if he wanted to get a drink after a long night doing recon for a mission for Klaue, Erik didn’t say no. They’d sat next to each other in a dank bar in some Slovak country Erik couldn’t seem to recall, drinking and laughing. It had been the first time Erik had laughed in a while. They leaned into each other playfully, nudging each other’s shoulders as they joked and go to know each other better.

It wasn’t until the end of the night, after they’d walked back to their hotel, that Erik found himself standing in the hallway in front of her door, looking into her eyes absolutely perplexed by the entire situation. He’d laughed then, unable to believe what he wanted to do or why he even wanted to do it.

Linda raised an eyebrow, the only indication she gave him that she was curious about his sudden change in demeanor. 

“I gotta tell you somethin’. And I’m only tellin’ you cause I legit wanna take you in that room and fuck you through the mattress.”

Maybe he’d had too much to drink. It would explain his sudden need for transparency, but somehow not his desire for the woman. 

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, “I’m listening.”

“A’ight, here goes…” Erik paused. He’d never been this honest with anyone before in his life. Frankly, he’d never even said what he was about to out loud before. “I…” Fuck, what words would make this shit sound right? “I ain’t like most other guys you run across in this line of work, I—”

“Erik.” Linda stopped him and took his hands in hers. “I know what you’re going to say.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed into slits as he inspected her features. How could she know?

“Come on,” She turned towards the door and slipped the keycard into the slot. “You can still fuck me through the mattress.” She winked at him over her shoulder as she turned the handle and cracked the door open. 

Erik’s face lit up like a school boy’s. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and grinned at her, his dimples and the hope in his eyes making him look impossibly innocent in that moment. “You for real?” He asked.

“Yeah, we’re having a good time. Don’t complicate it by thinking about how I’m not your type. Do what you feel.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

In an instant, Erik’s lips were on hers. He had her body pulled tight against his. His hands were on her ass, gripping her, lifting her from the floor. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he deepened the kiss.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took King T’Challa much time to convince the tribal council that saving Erik Steven’s life was not a mistake. The council meeting was uncivilized compared to usual Wakandan standards. However, no one seemed to be more outraged than T’Challa’s mother, Ramonda. 

“You mean to tell us that not only do you allow that boy to lay in our hospital, but that once he is well you wish for him to walk amongst our people?” Her tone was incredulous. She simply could not believe her son’s audacity. 

T’Challa sat on the throne, relatively stoic despite the chaos that was erupting around him, because of him. He took a measured breath before he spoke. What he was about to say was sure to upset his mother and the council, but he needed to explain himself. “He wished to die than be imprisoned. I could not allow his death. Especially at my hands. One family member taking the life of another is how we arrived here in the first place. Since I made the choice for him to live, I have made the choice to honor his wishes. It is only right. No bondage.” 

An Elder from the Mining tribe scoffed, “Your father may not have made the best decision when he left the boy in America, but he was looking out for all of our people with his choice. Who do you look out for now, T’Challa?”

The way she spat his name was enough for the king to understand her intent.

“Erik is one of us! Least you forget. A few weeks ago, all of you had no qualms in your acceptance and devotion to this man! Yet you withhold your acceptance now?”

Someone from the River tribe broke into to foray. “No one wished to act on his commands, but he was king! We thought you to be dead! We had no choice then, but we have a choice now. He cannot be received with open arms by the very people whose loved ones met death complying with his asinine demands!” 

“Maybe his demands were not asinine after all,” T’Challa’s voice was soft as he spoke. What he had to say needed to be said, but he knew it would not be well received. “Erik may be wrong in his approach, but he may not be wrong in his opinion. We can do more. We should do more. We will do more.”

The room erupted into shouts and jeers at once. A loud cacophony that further aggravated the headache the king had before he’d walked in. 

From where she stood, just to left of the right of the king, Okoye saw his features tighten and his eyes close briefly against all of the outraged voices being directed at him. She gazed at him with an arched eyebrow as if to ask if he wanted her to clear the room.

The king declined. He would settle the matter himself.

“I have not been king long,” T’Challa mused aloud. “When I inherited the mantle of King of Wakanda, I was not sure what kind of king I wanted to be. Or what kind of king Wakanda needed. When my cousin showed up here, I tried to be receptive, but firm. The events that transpired afterward showed me that was not the way. Erik took control of the kingdom and took the respect he desired. His commands were followed.” 

T’Challa rose from the throne. He locked his hands together, low, behind his back. His head nodded a brief moment as if to reassure himself of what he was about to say next, “Therefore, I will no longer be receptive to discussions on this subject. I am the king. My commands will be followed. Erik will be accepted in Wakanda. That is final.”

Before anyone had the chance to speak further, T’Challa began to exit the throne room. Okoye and Ayo were quick on his heels. Neither seemed to bat an eye at the glare Ramonda gave the three of them as they passed. 

“Oh, and—” T’Challa stopped short and turned on his heels, directing his attention back to the Mining tribe Elder who had addressed him earlier. “From now on, you will address me properly. I am the king to you. To all of you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

T’Challe spent the next few days tending to Erik who still maintained his silence. The king noted how the younger man seemed to need no medication now that he had returned, though he did seem to still be in a great deal of pain. T’Challa spoke often when he was alone with his cousin, even though Erik did not join in the conversation. He shared the news of the Outreach Center, told Erik of his plans to open Wakanda to the rest of the world, thanked Erik for opening his eyes to the plight of others. 

Erik showed no emotion regarding any of the information the king gave him. He kept his expression neutral and his mood docile. He didn’t want to be dosed again. He needed to keep his mind coherent and cognizant. 

“Would you like to try standing?” T’Challa had asked the question quite out of the blue one day after he’d collected Erik’s tray from breakfast. 

Erik’s eyes shot up to T’Challa’s face. The man had to be out of his mind. Erik hadn’t stood on his own two feet in nearly a month, since his cousin had plunged that blade into his heart. He didn’t have the strength. The pins and needles in his left leg left it feeling numb more often than anything else. 

“We will try.” T’Challa decided with much optimism when Erik continued to gape at him. He worked to organize much of the tubing and equipment that connected to Erik’s body before he helped his cousin sit upright in bed. 

To his credit, Erik was able to swing his right leg off the bed and place his right foot down on the floor. His left though did not obey the command to the do the same. T’Challa noticed. 

The king lifted Erik’s left leg for him, helping to turn his body so that he was sitting on the edge of the side of the bed with both feet on the floor. 

“Can you feel the floor beneath your feet?”

Erik nodded once. It was the first bit of communication he had given the king in weeks. 

T’Challa sat down on the bed on Erik’s left and lifted Erik’s left arm around his shoulder. Erik could barely feel it. His limbs just felt heavy, tingling. He tried to clasp his hand onto his T’Challa’s shoulder, his fingers twisting and stiff pressed awkwardly against T’Challa’s robe. He felt T’Challa’s strong hands on him, one holding onto his left arm, the other snaked around his waist.

“On three, we will stand.”

Erik didn’t respond. He kept his eyes on his feet, his brow knitted tight. He refused to give T’Challa the satisfaction of not being able to accomplish such a simple task. Afterall, it wasn’t like he was being asked to run a marathon. He just needed to be able to stand up. 

“One…”

If he was honest with himself, accomplishing this feat was more important than depriving the king of any satisfaction at seeing him fail. Erik needed this. He needed this for himself. He’d never been this broken. His body had never failed him before, and now…

“Two…”

Now he was reduced to this. Being taken care of while he laid on his back like an invalid. 

“Three!”

Erik sucked in a pained breath as T’Challa stood and Erik felt his body being pulled from the bed. His chest burned with the movement and his right hand instinctively grabbed for it, clutching at the stitches and staples that ran between his pecks and ended midway down his torso.

He was so focused on the pain in his chest that he didn’t notice how his body instantly began to sag against T’Challa. His left side refusing to bare any of his weight, respond to any of the signals and commands from his brain. He started to pitch forward and T’Challa let go of the arm around his shoulder to catch his cousin. 

Once they were both steady, T’Challa hummed approvingly as he set Erik on his own legs, making sure the left one was planted firmly. The king noted the defeat of Erik’s face though. His hand patted his cousin’s side reassuring.

“It will take time,” T’Challa held Erik firmly, allowing his cousin a few more moments upright before he helped him sit back down on the bed. He helped him get his legs back onto the bed, checked the stiches in his chest to assure none had ruptured. T’Challa was sure that Erik would have a nasty scar. Though the wound he inflicted on Erik had only been about six inches in length, the incision from his heart surgery had caused Erik’s torso to be opened up about ten inches. Admittedly, even with all of his keloid scars, T’Challa hated that he’d marked Erik’s body in such a way. It was a blemish that he found to be ugly, especially now while it was still healing, red, inflamed, and angry. 

“We can work on this each day, when I return.”

Erik stiffened at the king’s words.

The fuck’s he goin’ now?

The few days that T’Challa had been gone prior had been difficult for Erik. He didn’t even remember them fully around the pain and the drugs. Drugs he wasn’t sure he’d asked for.

However, despite himself, he trusted the king to keep his word. He trusted T’Challa’s directions to not give him anything he didn’t ask for, so he must have been in so much pain that he finally acquiesced. 

“I will be delivering a speech at the United Nations General Assembly. Wakanda will not hide anymore,” T’Challa informed as he dragged the chair that usually resided further away from Erik closer to the head of his bed so that they could talk better. This was the most engaged Erik had been in weeks, and T’Challa felt less reserved in the comfort of his cousin’s attention and lack of purposeful, forced aloofness. “It will only be a couple of days. Chandaki will be here, just as before.

Fuck… 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik had a firm grip on Linda’s ass, his fingers kneading into the flesh. Her legs were wrapped tight around his waist, her ankles locked behind his back and pulling Erik’s pelvis tighter against hers. Her hands were fisted in his locs, keeping his face pressed against her neck where he was busy kissing, nipping, licking at the soft skin, his beard scratching lightly against her cheek.

He rocked his hips against her, trying to get more friction against his half hard cock. They were both still fully clothed and Erik wasn’t going to be the first to change that. But fuck, he wanted her skin pressed against his so desperately. Instead, his hands moved to her hips, pulling her forward to meet his shallow thrusts. Even though she’d agreed to let him fuck her, Erik wasn’t really sure where to begin with her. Cautiously he allowed his hands to wander from her hips, up the hem of her shirt, letting his thumbs slip underneath to stroke the naked skin there as he pushed her more firmly against the wall for support. 

The room was dark when they’d entered, and neither of them bothered with the lights. Erik preferred it that way. Maybe in the darkness she wouldn’t be able to see his apprehension, his uncertainty. 

“Erik?” 

He was startled out of his thoughts, his thumbs immediately stilled at the way she said his name. “Do you want me to stop?” He whispered into the shell of her ear, praying she wouldn’t say yes.

She tugged gently at his dreads, maneuvering his face away from her ear so that she could look at him. But as soon as their eyes locked in the darkness, Erik’s slipped closed. His heart was pounding, his cock aching in the confines of his cargo pants. He wanted her so bad, but fuck if he could figure out why. 

With a deep, shaky breath, he let his forehead rest against hers. Their noses bumped together, and Linda brought a hand down to caress his cheek.

“We can stop. Is that what—”

Linda kissed Erik, slowly, gently. It was all lip, but for some reason, he appreciated that. 

“I don’t want to stop, okay?” she assured him.

He nodded, his thumbs going back to tracing absentmindedly across her hip bones. His eyes were cast downward, locked on where her body was still wrapped around his. 

“I just want this to be good for you, you know? You don’t actually have to fuck me through the mattress. I just want… I just want you to feel good, okay? I want this to be okay for you.”

Erik’s heart was pounding. He could hear it in his ears and was grateful for the small bit of distance she’d created between their upper bodies, because otherwise he was sure she would have been able to feel it too.

“You sure?”

She brushed his dreads from his face and placed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. “I’m more than sure.”

“I told you, I ain’t really… I mean, this ain’t my usu—” 

“I just want Erik, no matter who he is or what he likes. Just Erik. That’s it.”

Erik swallowed hard around the lump forming in his throat. Fuck, she was almost perfect. Almost. If only he…

He pushed the thought from his mind, then quickly buried his face in her neck again, canting his hips against her. He was so damn hard now, and she moaned when his cock thrusted against just the right spot, again and again.

Linda wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, letting her fingers splay open against his back, caressing him through his shirt. He sighed contently as he continued to rock his hips against her. 

It didn’t take her long to near her orgasm. Something about the way Erik held her so intimately, like he trusted her, brought her to the brink faster than anything ever had before.

“That’s it, right there,” she said under her breath as the next few thrusts from Erik’s hips pushed directly against her still clothed clit. “Right there, Erik!”

Erik grunted. His body tensed, his own orgasm taking him by surprise as he came hard in his pants. His hips faltered as he rode out the sudden and unexpected high, then stopped altogether, leaving Linda wanting. He stayed pressed against her, his face in her neck, moist, heavy breaths painting her skin as he tried to collect his thoughts. 

“I…” Shit, he’d promised to fuck her through the mattress and here he was, cumming in his pants from a few minutes of dry humping like a fucking inexperienced teenager. 

Linda ran her fingertips down Erik’s neck as he came down from his orgasm. 

“Shit surprised me. M’sorry… Lemme at least…” Fumbling, he worked his hand between their bodies, inside her clothes, trying to reach her center. He could at least return the favor. He slipped two fingers between her folds, his thumb searching for… “Here, I can—” 

“Erik,”

When she called his name, he settled for pumping his two fingers inside of her slowly, carefully.

“Erik, you don’t have to.” 

“I want to.”

She reached for his forearm, stopping him. “…Do you?” 

It was an honest question that he considered honestly as well. She deserved that much. 

She unwrapped her legs from his and he used his free hand to help her down as she planted her feet back on the floor, his other hand still in her pants, but unmoving. He was still breathing hard, his body still trying to come down from its high, but his mind was clear. 

“I do know, Erik.”

He felt his heart stop beating as her eyes bore into him in the darkness that he was suddenly even more grateful for. Whatever buzz he’d had from the alcohol they’d consumed earlier was now gone. Panic ran through his bloodstream instead.

“I don’t care though,” she continued quickly as she noticed the anxiety raise in his chest. “I don’t care. I like you, and I don’t care.”

“I like you too…” he pulled his hand from her pants, wiping his wet fingers against his own thigh. “I’m just… tryina figure it out, ya know? Wasn’t expectin’ to. Not even sure why I do. It’s kinda fuckin’ wit’ me honestly.” 

The frustration was clear in his voice and Linda tried her best not to be hurt by his admission. He needed her support more than her judgement. 

“Sometimes we can’t help the shit we feel. It doesn’t have to make sense.” 

“I’ont know howta process shit that don’t though.” Erik turned away from her then. Part of him wanted to bolt out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him, but what good would that do him really? She wasn’t some random broad. He’d see her in the morning whether he wanted to or not. Besides, even though he couldn’t tell for sure in the dark, he knew his pants were probably too cum stained to be presentable in case anyone saw him slinking back to his own room. He settled for flopping down on her bed.

After a moment, Linda sat down next to him.

“All my life, I been real damn sure of who I am, even when that ain’t cool with other people.” He ran a shaky hand down his face at the admission. It smelled like Linda’s pussy. “Fuck!” He swore out loud at the realization. “You come ‘round fuckin’ everything up! Makin’ me doubt myself. Confusin’ me.”

“You don’t think I’m confused too for Christ’s sake?!”

Erik recoiled at her sudden change in tone. “That ain’t what I mean.” He signed, letting his gaze focus on the twisted patterns he could barely make out in the carpet. “My life’s been shit, for real. Like, always just a bag of dicks, you know? But I got goals. I got—I’m not tryina be distracted from the shit I needa accomplish.”

“It doesn’t have to be shit and dicks, Erik.” Her voice was soft, patient. She placed a gentle hand on his thigh, and he turned to look up at her. This time he held her gaze. “You don’t have to be shoved into a single box.”

Erik leaned in. The kiss was hesitant. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. He hadn’t all night actually. He was a mess. Shit in his head was a mess. Shit in his heart was a mess. He didn’t want to feel it. Goddamn, he didn’t want to feel any of it.

Linda broke the kiss when she felt Erik’s tears fall against her upper lip. For the first time, she was grateful for the darkness as well as she slipped from the bed onto her knees on the floor. She kneeled at Erik’s feet and lifted one of the into her lap, untying his boot before doing the same with the other. She chucked each of the heavy boots a few feet away, not noticing the thud they made as they landed on the floor. The only thing she could focus on was how Erik was looking at her. 

He’d spent so much of the night avoiding her gaze that now the curiosity in his stare held her captive. Without breaking eye contact, she ran her hands up his thighs. When they reached the apex of his legs, she moved to undo the button on his jeans, but she hesitated.

“Can I?”

Erik nodded.

That was all it took for Linda to unbutton and unzip his pants. Erik lifted his hips and allowed her tug them and his underwear down his legs until they were bunched around his ankles. His cock twitched against the sudden temperature change and she smirked up at him as she placed soft, wet kisses on the insides of his thighs while raking her nails down the outsides.

“Fuck…” Erik hissed. He leaned back on the bed, propped up on his forearms. His cock began to stir back to life at the feeling of Linda’s warm breath against it.

“We can start slow, till you figure your shit out.” She bit the inside of his thigh hard enough to bruise the skin before soothing the mark with her tongue. “What do you prefer, hand or mouth?”

She gave his opposite thigh the same attention and Erik struggled to answer her question.

“M-mouth,” He responded. He was a fiend for having his dick sucked, but… “I owe you one though. Lemme fuck you.”

Instead of responding to him, Linda wasted no time taking the head of Erik’s cock between her moist lips. She could taste his cum from earlier and let her tongue flick against his slit. Precum oozed into her mouth and she moaned at her reward.

Erik’s right hand moved from where he’d been propping himself up on his forearm to tangle in her curly black locks. His fingertips massaged her scalp and applied light pressure, encouraging her to take him deeper in her mouth.

She obliged. Her cheeks hallowed as she lowered herself onto his length as far as she could until she felt the spongey tip bump against the back of her throat. She gagged and pulled off quickly, surprised by the suddenness of it, a long trail of her saliva and his fluids still connecting to his tip. She coughed once to clear her throat, then smiled up at him, enjoying the way his lips were parted and the golden caps on his incisors glinted in from the moonlight that seeped in from the window. His eyes were hooded as he watched her. His fingers massaged her scalp again before he guided her head back towards his length.

She tilted her face though, and placed open mouthed kisses from his base to his tip before letting her tongue dig into his slit.

Erik groaned and watched another steady stream precum flow onto her tongue. He needed to be in her mouth, down her throat. 

“You’re a big boy, Erik,” she was praising his length but also letting him know that she couldn’t take him all. She knew that was what he wanted, she could tell by the way his hand tightened in her hair. 

He liked the way she said it. 

He hissed when her hand wrapped around his shaft and began pumping him while she took what she could of him back into her mouth.

“Mhmm… you can take it all, baby, I know you can.” His hand left her hair and ran down her cheek, over her stretched lips, down a bit of his shaft till it came in contact with her hand that pumping him steadily. “Move your hand, use your mouth. You can take it all.”

He brought her hand over to rest on his thigh and she kneaded the flesh there. His own hand went back to tangle in her hair and he forced her down onto his length again as his hips thrust up, pushing him deep in her throat.

Linda gagged. She tried to pull back, pushing against Erik’s thighs, but he held her firm, choking her on his pipe.

She gasped and sputtered when he finally let her up for air, long strings of fluid running from her lips and nose. She pulled the mucusy substance from her nostrils before she leveled her eyes at him.

“Sorry,” he offered half-heartedly, then reached for her head again.

She smacked his hand away.

“You have control issues, especially for someone who is so… out of control. We’re going to have to fix that.”

There was no anger or malice in her voice and her hand went back to work, stroking his cock and twisting her thumb over his head with each upward pull. 

He liked the way she said that too and was equally as curious about it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll find out soon… If we make through tonight without you doing anything else absolutely inappropriate.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For all intents and purposes, T’Challa’s UN address went better than he had anticipated, and though he was met with a host of questions that he did not have immediate answers to, he was able to assure other nations that his ambitions were not an attempt to blow smoke up their asses. Wakanda would indeed step onto the global stage and do more. 

After his address, Agent Ross met him with congratulations. However, T’Challa had other things on his mind. 

“Agent Ross,” T’Challa began as the two men meandered the halls of the United Nations building with Okoye and Ayo close on their heels.

“Please, your highness, I’ve told you, call me Everett,” Ross insisted.

“Yes, Everett,” the king began again. “You have done much for my kingdom and my people already, and I thank you. However, I have a personal favor that I would like to ask of you.”

Agent Ross raised an eyebrow and his pace slowed, curious as to what T’Challa might request.

“I am looking for more information regarding my cousin Erik. If there is anything that you could provide for me, I would be in your debt.”

Ross stopped in his tracks as he tried to assess T’Challa’s motives. “Your highness, sometimes it’s better to let the dead stay dead. Rehashing Erik’s life experiences to try to determine why he was such a degenerate won’t change the past.”

T’Challa sighed, “I do not wish to change the past…” He let the statement hang in the air until Ross stepped in close and lowered his voice. 

“He is dead, isn’t he?”

T’Challa remained quiet, but his expression told Ross everything that he needed to know.

“I should have known…” Ross stalked away a few passes, frustrated, then turned back to address the king. “I’ll see what I can find, but you have to know, T’Challa, keeping that guy alive is like playing with fire. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

“And what do you believe he wants?”

“The throne. He’ll try to kill you as soon as he gets the chance.”

T’Challa nodded. He understood Agent Ross’ concern, but… “Erik is not what he once was, and to ensure that he continues to progress in the right direction, I must know as much as possible, Everett.”

Ross shook his head, “I’ll send you what I can,” he said before walking away to end the conversation. 

Okoye raised an eyebrow at T’Challa who grinned sheepishly. 

“It could have gone worse,” he decided.

“How far will you go for this man, T’Challa?” she asked as they passed through the halls on their way out of the building. 

“I will go as far as it takes. He deserves my—”

“Your what?!” Okoye couldn’t help but interrupt. From her perspective, T’Challa was bending over backward for a man that had no regard for him, his country, or his people. “Erik Stevens is a selfish man who is so blinded by his own egotistical desires that he thinks they are for the greater good of the world. And you? You defend him! What has happened to you?”

“I defend him, yes, because he is all of those things because of my father. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t at least try to help him?”

Okoye’s eyes leveled at T’Challa in warning. It was a look he had rarely seen from her and definitely one he had never been on the receiving end of. 

“You would be a wise man.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik’s body was screaming at him, the muscles in his left leg and arm cramping and tingling, taut and throbbing. The pain was clouding his mind, making it difficult for him to maintain a clear head and keep coherent thoughts. Through the pain in his body and the cloudiness in his mind, he could hear the heart monitor he was connected to spiking as his pulse pounded out of control.

Calm down, count to ten. It’s physical, it’ll pass. It’ll pass.

He closed his eyes against the bright lights in the room that only served to cause his head to pound with every beat of his heart. He could hear his blood pressure rushing through his ears, the sounds of his own heavy, labored breathing. 

He also heard the hydraulic door to his room open with a woosh.

Erik’s eyes rolled open and he took in Chandaki as she entered the room with concern etched on her features. Her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her apron as she came around the bed. She reached one hand out to caress his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. Despite himself, Erik leaned into the comforting touch. He choked back a whimper when her thumb rubbed gentle touches across his cheek bone. 

“It is alright,” She soothed before taking her hand away right before her other hand pulled from her apron. A vial of that glowing, pink liquid was clutched in her fist. 

She turned to the IV bag and Erik’s good hand shot out and caught Chandaki’s wrist in a firm grip.

“Nah,” he pushed out the first words he’d spoken in weeks. 

Chandaki pulled away from his grasp and stepped back from the bed. Her eyes narrowed at Erik. He dropped his hand down onto the bed, knowing immediately what he’d done to cause the scowl on her face.

“You need it,” She rifled around in the drawer of the medical supply stand next to Erik’s bed, and retrieved a syringe. She inserted the needled into the vial and drew back a heartier dose than Erik had recalled seeing the previous few times he was able to remember being administered the medication, then she injected it into his IV.

The cool liquid coursed through his veins and he was immediately drowsy, the drug taking a much stronger hold on him than usual.

“‘S’too much…” The words barely passed his lips before he was out cold. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~¤¤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the royal talon fighter touched back down in Wakanda, T’Challa and Okoye had yet to resolve their differences. To her credit, Okoye was outwardly far less bothered by her disagreement with T’Challa. The woman was capable of compartmentalizing. T’Challa was both her friend and the king. It was her friend that she had quarreled with. It was the king that she resumed her duties to directly afterward. 

T’Challa, on the other hand, had been so disgruntled as of late, that he could not put the very brief moment of disagreement aside. He’d carried it home with him, and it radiated from his body language. If it was possible, his posture was even straighter, his walk more determined, his hands clutched tighter behind his back.

“Let it go, kumkani,” Okoye pushed as they boarded the hover craft. “I was wrong to speak so freely and so out of turn.”

As was the new routine, as soon as they returned to Wakanda, T’Challa made his way to see his cousin.

T’Challa raised a hand to silence her as the craft sped through the streets. 

“It is not what you said that bothers me, Okoye. It is that you could possibly be right. I do not know what Erik’s intentions are, I do not know if he is simply biding his time.”

“You are sure that he is physically incapable of—”

“Aye. He could barely hurt a fly in his current state.”

The pair walked together as friends as they entered the hospital. They wound down the halls to the private wing of the hospital where the royal family was treated. Two members of the king’s guard saluted him as they passed through the first set of automatic doors that led to the isolated hall where Erik’s room was located. The second set of doors was opened with the king’s kimoyo beads. 

Okoye stood guard at the second set of doors and T’Challa proceeded on his own from there. When he reached Erik’s room, he entered a seven-digit code into the keypad next to the door. The door opened with a woosh and T’Challa’s face fell as he stepped inside. 

Erik was gone.


	4. To Our King:

Chad,

I knew I'd be sitting down to write this eventually, but I didn't expect it to be now. I don't know how to even begin to put into words the things that I'm feeling. Yeah, I'm hurt. It hurt's more than I can even try to explain. But beyond that hurt, I'm grateful for you, and grateful that you were such a big, important part of my life and the lives of some many others. You've touched people in ways you cant even begin to know, but then again... I guess now, the view from where you are allows you to be able to see your reach more clearly than you ever could on this earth. Thank you for your gifts, and for sharing them with us even when it wasn't easy. Thank you for your strength, your love, and even your guidance. Thank you for your smile; a smile we'll all carry in our hearts for the rest of our days. I love you for everything you've done for us, for me, and I pray that you will eternally rest in peace. 

With all the love in my heart,  
1stLadyofSnark


End file.
